The mountain wind bit through the heavy fur trim of Edric’s cloak as he sat atop his horse, a silent specter overlooking the courtyard of Crag Keep.
Below him, the scene was one of controlled chaos. Heavy wooden wagons groaned under the immense weight of sacks filled to bursting with confiscated grain, their iron-rimmed wheels grinding against the frost-dusted cobblestones.
A few paces away, the luxurious carriage of House Artos sat waiting, its door firmly shut against the freezing sleet. Inside, Lira and Celia were already sheltered from the elements, leaving the rugged work of the departure to the soldiers.
Serah guided her mount up beside Edric's, her sharp eyes scanning the frantic movements of the stable hands and guards. She adjusted the leather strap of her gauntlet, her gaze shifting from the wagons back to the looming stone keep.
Edric passed a glance at her as he adjusted his handle on the reins.
"Serah, are we good to depart?"
"My lord," Serah spoke up, her voice low enough to be drowned out by the rattling of iron chains nearby, "we can depart as soon as they finish loading the wagons."
"That's good, we have a long way home," Edric replied, his tone flat and somewhat tired. "I still have a lot to do."
Serah offered a small bow before riding ahead towards the men. "Hurry it up, men! We're burning daylight!"
The heavy thud of hooves drew Edric's attention toward the main gates. Baron Alric rode out into the courtyard, mounted on a massive, shaggy northern charger that looked as rugged and weathered as the old man himself.
He wore thick, functional leather and chainmail, stripped of any noble finery. Behind him marched the promised three-quarters of his household guard, their expressions grim but disciplined. And trailing at the very rear, bound together by heavy iron damp-chains, were the bandits captured from the ridge.
They walked with their heads low, their bodies shivering in their thin rags, but their eyes wide with the realization that they were being marched toward warm barracks and food rather than the gallows.
Alric pulled his horse to a stop a respectable distance from Edric, offering a stiff, low nod from the saddle.
"Lord Marquess," Alric called out, his voice gravelly in the crisp air.
"Baron Alric," Edric acknowledged smoothly. "Are your preparations complete?"
"They are. My house guards are ready for the march, and the prisoners are secured," Alric confirmed, gesturing to the line of men behind him.
He looked out toward the narrow, snow-choked mountain pass leading away from the keep, then back to Edric. "The ridges are treacherous this time of year, and the sleet is only worsening. If it pleases the Lord Marquess... I ask that my men and the prisoners convoy alongside your retinue."
Edric turned his gaze back to Alric, assessing the old man. Traveling together meant keeping his eyes directly on the man he had just deposed, ensuring no sudden changes of heart occurred on the road.
More than that, a larger force was a deterrent to any other opportunistic threats waiting in the whiteout.
"That would be wise, my lord," Edric decreed. "The weather is turning, it is safer for everyone to travel in a single, large group. Fall your men into the center of the column, my lord."
Alric nodded, a flicker of appreciation crossing his tired features. "Understood, my lord."
From a distance, Serah gestured towards Edric. "We're ready to move out, my lord."
With a sharp command from Edric, the vanguard began to move, and the great convoy of House Artos slowly lurched forward, winding its way out of the fortress and into the frontier of the Northern territory.
The grueling journey back down from the peaks passed without incident, the heavy wagons moving steadily along the rugged paths under the watchful eyes of the combined vanguard.
The biting sleet eventually gave way to a crisp, cold stillness, allowing the column to make good time as the iron-rimmed wheels bit into the hard earth.
By the second day, the sprawling caravan ground to a temporary halt at the high-road crossroads, the central veins of the territory where the mountain passes split toward the lowlands.
Here, Edric pulled his mount to a stop, turning to look at Baron Alric. The old lord’s shaggy northern charger exhaled a plume of thick steam into the sharp air.
"This is where our paths diverge, Baron Alric," Edric stated, his voice even and commanding. "Your men and the captives will reinforce the guard and labor forces at the Dunmere mines, some of my engineers and workers are already there. Take charge of the mines, I'm expecting results from you."
Alric offered a stiff, respectful nod from the saddle, his eyes reflecting a quiet acceptance of his new reality. "Understood, Lord Marquess. I will do my best. May the roads treat your return kindly."
With a final signal, Alric wheeled his charger around, guiding his household guard and the line of bound prisoners down the eastern fork toward the mines.
Edric watched them for a moment, ensuring the column fell into proper order, before turning his horse back toward the main road. With a sharp command to Serah, Edric led his remaining vanguard and the heavy grain wagons toward home.
As they traversed the run down dirt path, they noticed group after group of workers toiling along the highway.
Clad in thick, coarse wool and heavy leather aprons, the laborers dug into the frozen earth, clearing away jagged rocks and laying down fresh beds of packed gravel.
Moving among them, ensuring both safety and efficiency, were pairs of the five hundred newly recruited soldiers. Outfitted with leather armor suited to the cold, they patrolled the perimeter with a vigilant, disciplined stride, offering their salute as they recognize their lord.
Edric slowed his horse slightly, his golden eyes tracking the steady progress. He glanced over at red-haired female knight. "It seems Gareth has already started the plans to rebuild the roads."
Serah nodded, a rare, approving look softening her sharp features as she surveyed the industrious scene. "Indeed so, my lord. The roads, if you could call it that, were practically nonexistent. Traveling across the territory will be significantly easier once these repairs are completed."
Edric cringed inside his head, "I'm so sorry for writing it that way," he seemed to think.
"It's a start," Edric replied flatly, pushing his thoughts aside.
His gaze returned to the horizon. "But there is still a long way to go, this is only the beginning."
By midday, the towering stone gates of Galehelm finally loomed before them. An impressive wall almost eighty feet tall and fourteen feet thick, lined with numerous archer towers, it made the seat of House Artos, Galehelm, a formidable fortress.
It was said that at the height of the family's power, the city was nigh impregnable, able to repel a force of thousands with only hundreds.
Though right now, it's still a far cry from that.
As the caravan approached, Edric’s eyes sharpened. Posted at the outer walls and along the parapets were twice as many guards as before, all standing straight, their spears held high and their attention locked onto the road.
They all saluted as the large iron gates groaned open to let their lord pass.
A quiet wave of satisfaction washed over him.
He kept his expression entirely unreadable, but internally, he nodded. It was the right move to recruit those extra men.
The fortress is starting to feel like an actual fortress.
Down in the bustling lower districts of Galehelm, the sudden, rhythmic thud of a massive cavalry escort drew the immediate attention of the commonfolk.
Citizens froze in the middle of the crowded cobblestone streets, market vendors paused mid-shout, and children peered out from narrow alleyways.
A heavy, tense silence fell over the crowd as the vanguard entered, led by the unmistakable figure of the young Lord Marquess atop his mount. In the past, the sight of Edric Artos meant only trouble, a sign for the commoners to lower their heads, hide their coin, and pray his cruel whims didn't land on them.
But as the procession wound its way through the central square, the whispers began.
"Look... behind the guards."
"Are those...?"
Trailing behind Edric’s personal guard wasn't a caravan of imported luxury fabrics, rare wines, or garish furniture meant to decorate a spoiled lord's bedroom.
Instead, a long, unbroken line of heavy wooden wagons groaned under immense weight. The canvas coverings were tied tight, but at the edges, the unmistakable, golden-brown grains of wheat and barley peeked through the coarse sacks.
Wagon after wagon filled to bursting with food rolled into the city, flanked by disciplined soldiers.
"That's grain," an old merchant muttered, his eyes wide as he gripped his apron. "The lord brought back grain!."
"Maybe the lord is stocking up on supplies, I hope he doesn't impose the same on us." a woman whispered, holding her child close, her eyes fixed on the silent, silver-haired lord leading the march.
The convoy continued up the rising slopes of the city until the heavy iron-reinforced gates of the Artos manor creaked open, allowing the mud-splattered caravan to finally pass into the secure inner courtyard.
The moment the line of wagons cleared the threshold, the oppressive weight of the freezing mountain wind seemed to soften against the high stone walls.
As Edric dismounted, his boots crunching against the frost-dusted cobblestones, the rhythmic, thunderous sound of shouting and clashing steel echoed from the western grounds.
In the background, the sharp clack-clack of wooden practice swords and the synchronized marching of the newly recruited soldiers filled the air. The training drills for the other nee recruits were continuing as ordered.
Walking down the grand stone steps to meet them were two old men.
As the steward of House Artos, Gareth carried his usual sharp, meticulously organized air, while Matthus, though looking stressed, offered a polite but tired, respectful bow, his eyes taking in the massive line of grain wagons rolling in behind the lord.
"Lord Marquess," Gareth greeted, his crisp, professional voice easily carrying over the distant sounds of the training yard. He glanced at the overflowing sacks of grain, a flicker of profound relief crossing his face. "Welcome back. It would seem that your trip to the frontier was fruitful."
"It was," Edric replied smoothly, tossing his reins to a waiting stable hand. "Baron Alric was... cooperative. The Dunmere mines are secured, and the frontier grain has been reclaimed."
"Excellent news, my lord," Gareth said. Then, the steward’s expression turned, a tense seriousness gripping his features. He reached into the breast pocket of his fine wool coat, pulling out a thick, pristine envelope. "Good. But... I must apologize for troubling you the moment when you just returned, my lord. This arrived a few days ago from the western marches. The messenger insisted it was of the utmost importance."
Gareth stepped forward, handing the elegant envelope over with deep respect.
Edric took it, his eyes immediately locking onto the crisp, wax seal securing the heavy vellum. It wasn't the standard bureaucratic wax of the capital.
Stamped perfectly into the deep crimson wax was the intricate, unmistakable shape of a blooming red rose.
Edric’s breath hitched slightly in the back of his throat, though his face remained a mask of absolute, aristocratic calm.
A red rose.
There was no doubt about it. It was the proud, ancient sigil of House Sterling, the family of Elena Sterling, his legal fiancée and the original story's female main character.
Holding the heavy, gold-trimmed envelope in his gloved hand, the modern author inside him felt a cold spike of reality.
In the original script, his interaction with Elena at this point should have been nonexistent, Edric was supposed to be a corpse rotting in a northern grave right now. By surviving the poisoning and restructuring his fief, he had completely broken the timeline.
Now, the plot was officially knocking on his front door.
Dismissing the courtyard staff to settle the caravan, Edric broke the seal as he climbed the grand staircase.
He took one look at it, and felt as if his heart dropped to his knees.
"Oh no" he thought to himself.
Reading that he was somewhat disturbed, Lira came forward with a worrying look. "Is something wrong, my lord?" She asked as she kept her ledgers near her chest.
Edric glanced at her, his golden eyes meeting hers. He took a deep breath before answering.
"It's an invitation."